Canning Porn

So, I broke out the canning cookbooks two nights ago. Once the calendar turns to late June and the garden is fully in, it’s time to think about all of the wonderful goodness that I can “put up” as my grandma would say. There is also a seasonality of sorts to canning. Early to mid-summer is mostly fruits. Late summer is both fruits and vegetables and finally early fall is largely vegetables. But this year? I’m branching out. High on the success of my own ketchup, I want to make my own mustard. Even more ambitious? I found a recipe for a maple bourbon pecan pie in a jar and a jalapeno peach preserve that sounds like it would be just fabulous on a baked brie at Christmastime.

This year, I have an even greater interest in canning than usual. Part of it could be because I am anticipating significantly more time for canning. The other part could simply be that the creative part of preserving one’s own food grows more and more appealing every summer. Canning is a little like my clothesline. When I’m canning or hanging out clothes, there is a certain natural rhythm to the process: it can only go so fast and a large part of the pace is out of my control. Therefore, instead of my usual frenetic pace where I try to get everything done as quickly as possible, hanging clothes and preserving food forces me to adjust to nature’s pace and that calms me right down.

This week was genuinely the last of the crazy weeks – at least for a while. As I finally turn the corner into a quieter life, those mysteries contained within the canning cookbook beckon like never before. Maple bourbon pecan pie in a jar… beer mustard… my own California gardenia mix. The opportunities are endless.

And that gets me to a conversation Darryl and I had earlier this week. I’m making this move to half-time for a lot of reasons, most of them personal and a bit selfish. I want to slow down, I want more “off” time to spend with family and friends, I want more time at home where I can focus on being the homemaker I’ve always wanted to be. But just as importantly, there are real family-oriented reasons for me to slow down. With two busy careers, our lifestyle simply doesn’t work. There’s too much noise in our collective days for us to be able to shut down at 5 p.m. and pivot to a calm, country life. Instead, when work life ends at 5 p.m., simple tasks such as laundry, watering the garden, mowing the grass, picking up the kitchen and evening meal prep start to feel like burdens. Rather than the tasks being a happy requirement of the lifestyle we chose, they become just another thing to lengthen our day and take us out of our relaxed time as a family. Conversely, if those tasks can largely be completed before 5 p.m., then the evening stretches out before us. Dinner outdoors, a walk together, a mid-week campfire, playing with the kitties or even the occasional extra task become the setting for a more calm and relaxed life.

So, the promise of a better life for both of us when I finally get to go part-time is there. The one thing standing in our way? Me. Or, at least the “crazy cleaning lady” part of me.

You see, ever since I’ve decided to go more part-time, I’ve been feeling guilty. My husband is working full-time. I’m giving up a significant chunk of salary to go part-time. I need to go on my husband’s insurance – another extra cost for us – because I’m ineligible for health insurance at my new lower employment level. And guilt – for me – fuels my need to make a fair and equitable contribution. So, I’ve been letting myself spin out of control. There were good parts, of course. I took over the mowing and trimming, which has been a significant time savings for Darryl. I also have primarily taken over all regular indoor household chores, including ensuring that there are always chopped vegetables in our fridge for Darryl to quickly make a salad.

But those good parts were starting to be outweighed by the bad side of the crazy cleaning lady – that side which is wound up, bordering on frenetic, and creating a highly charged atmosphere at home. Suffice it to say, crazy cleaning lady and a calm country life do not mesh well.

And that was Darryl’s point. The “win” for him in me working less isn’t a few chopped veggies or less time on the lawn mower – though he appreciates the effort. Instead, the win is a more relaxed Gail and a more relaxed home. It would appear that to get one of those two more relaxed things, you get the other. I simply can’t manage to being relaxed when the house is in upheaval and if I’m in upheaval, well, the house is in upheaval. But a lot of that upheaval are these “deep cleaning” initiatives that I’ve convinced myself should have been completed months ago. That was creating the extra pressure and the extra crazy that was driving us both insane.

Since our conversation, I’ve been trying to tap into those country lifestyle pursuits that help me relax. A few loads of laundry on the line, dinner out spontaneously with a few friends, a painting session, a few hours here and there with my canning cookbooks. Nothing flashy or exciting but instead calm and engaging.

The result? It’s early days yet, but I’m starting to genuinely feel more relaxed. Instead of feeling like I need to prove my value if I’m only working half-time, I instead have focused on seeing the next phase of our life through my husband’s eyes. Again, the mowed lawn is nice; the relaxed Gail? Well, that’s the payoff.

As I turn the corner into the last full week of working more, I also have a few days off slated for next week, which will serve as the clean break between old and new life. Finally, I’m looking forward to it all. Not with my “to do” list in hand as much as a cup of coffee, a vague idea of what needs to get done that day and a promise that at 5 p.m., I will make sure I can shut it all down so we can relax. That, it appears, is the absolute best that I can do.